


Preserving His Likeness

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward First Times, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Photography, Post-Coital, Post-Fate/Zero, Pre-episode 13 of Fate/Zero, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rider is firmly on Team Waver; Waver's self-esteem disagrees, Size Difference, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: Or: Giant Hero and Small Camera(man)In which Rider discovers photography, and Waver makes a few discoveries of his own. And because this is Waver, he just can't help but doubt himself over it. Fortunately, he has a very devoted Servant.





	Preserving His Likeness

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Preserving His Likeness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127090) by [Amaranth42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaranth42/pseuds/Amaranth42)



> Looking at the tags just now, I almost wonder if I should put a "surprisingly, no, nudes aren't involved" note in there too. ~~I should probably stop adding and removing tags and post already~~
> 
> Turns out, the way to get me in the headspace to write Waver/Rider is to also make it a "Waver's ego and self-loathing duke it out" story! :D And my nervousness wound up being more helpful than expected--Waver's a flustered guy, after all. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero or Fate/Grand Order. (I'm looking forward to /GO's release, though!)

It’s to be expected that Rider becomes fascinated with photography. He has to be convinced that _no_ , your soul won’t be taken from you when your picture’s taken, but it doesn’t take him long to warm up to the idea.

It’s also to be expected that Rider immediately goes out and buys one of those disposable cameras, the plastic type that look so fragile in his huge hands. It’s bright yellow and black, cheerily uniform, and clashes with his new t-shirt and jeans. Of course, Rider doesn’t care; he reads the instructions slowly, humming to himself.

Meanwhile, Waver berates him for _another_ dumb purchase despite knowing it’s futile to try.

“All right, I believe I understand how this works,” Rider says proudly. “Time to put this camera to good use!”

Waver doesn’t expect Rider’s first subject to be _him_.

“Smile, boy!” Rider booms with a huge grin, holding up the camera like he’s been doing this for years.

“What the hell’re you _doing_ , idiot?!” Waver sputters. He holds up his hands to block the shot.

They’re in the middle of the shopping mall, with people milling about their business—and steering clear of Rider’s camera. (Some of them have smiles on their faces—laughing at Waver’s misery, no doubt.) The sounds of shoppers milling about echo and float all the way up to the glass roof; the noise is disorienting if you’re used to quiet libraries and lecture halls, like Waver is. It’s a hot day, for winter, and Waver hastily wipes sweat off the back of his neck.

“Huh?” Rider reluctantly brings his hands down toward his chest, his brows quirked in confusion. “What’s the matter, boy—do you not enjoy having your photo taken?”

“That’s right,” Waver snaps, inwardly surprised Rider figured it out so soon. “It…it just makes me uncomfortable, okay?”

Rider looks disappointed at first, but soon he nods in understanding. His red eyes have a familiar glint in them, the look of a man with an alternative strategy in mind.

“Very well! So, boy…why don’t I photograph things that _remind_ me of you, instead?”

Perhaps it says something about Waver that he was expecting a suggestion like this. _Oh, it_ definitely _does. This stupid Servant’s going to drive me insane!_ He sighs and rubs his temples. “…Sure, that’s a good trade.”

Rider chuckles. “Excellent! Now, then…” He glances around the mall, unable to hide his true, conqueror’s nature. His grin could almost be intimidating, if not for the circumstances.

That, or Waver’s somehow getting used to this idiot.

Waver wants to leave Rider to his own devices, but hell if his curiosity isn’t getting the better of him. He shuffles along beside Rider as his Servant’s huge legs stroll across the black and brown tiles, wondering where exactly they’re off to. He wonders if it’s a good or bad sign that he’s getting better at keeping up with Rider’s pace. _Well, it’s better than being dragged around by the scruff of the neck..._

Some people flick curious glances at them, but most seem determined not to notice anything unusual like giant foreigners carrying tiny cameras.

“Ah-ha!” Rider crows, jostling Waver out of his reverie. The camera’s white flash competes with the sunlight, and Waver tries to guess what Rider’s subject was just now.

He scowls. “A ‘back to school’ sale sign. _That’s_ your first choice.”

“It’s in green, too,” Rider says cheerily, and he continues his trek.

Waver can’t help but ask: “So why that sign, anyway?”

“That's simple: you take to learning like a fish! You seem right at home in an academic environment—despite the Clock Tower being a nest of vipers.” Rider strokes his beard thoughtfully. “You need a better place of learning, boy.”

Waver can’t argue with that, and says so. Rider laughs, long and loud, and Waver bites his lip to keep from smiling. He won’t give Rider the satisfaction.

Time passes in a flurry of photos: turtles in a pet store, chemistry tubes glinting in the sunlight, slick, leather-bound notebooks and Waver’s shadow against a bookshelf. By this point, Waver finds that his heart feels weirdly warm and light—if _he_ had to pick images that reminded him of himself, it’d be dark circles under someone’s eyes, crumpled papers and an ant struggling to scale a towering table leg. Rider’s choices are simple, but somehow…

\---

They arrive back at Waver’s “grandparent’s” place without incident. At the moment, they have the house to themselves, but by force of habit Waver goes to his room, his chest still feeling weird.

“I can’t wait to see the fruits of our efforts!” Behind him, Rider sounds beside himself with happiness. “It seems there’s still some film left—what should I use it on, I wonder…”

Waver turns to look at Rider’s innocent grin, how he eases down onto the bedroom floor and sprawls out like a lion in the sun; and how he’s holding the camera so carefully with hands that shouldn’t be capable of gentleness.

In that moment, Waver does something stupid. “Hey, Rider? Can”—he clears his throat, to stop his voice from squeaking—“can I borrow that camera, for a sec?”

Rider grins and hands it over. “I’m pleased to see you’ve discovered this contraption’s charm as well!”

Rider’s fingers have warmed the plastic. The heat tingles against Waver’s skin, and the hair on the nape of his neck threatens to rise. He pretends to have an itch. _Don’t overreact!_ Looking it over, the camera’s just the right size for him. He looks at the little white numbers that say “5/27” (there’s _plenty_ of film left), and finds an anxious feeling crawling in his gut.

For starters, there’s the possibility that Rider won’t let him do this, due to Waver’s reaction before.

 _Then_ there’s the fact that Waver has to ask this at all.

Out loud.

Waver glances at Rider’s… _Rider-ness_ , and braces himself.

“S-Since you wanted to take pictures of—of me,” he stammers, inwardly cursing his stupid mouth for not working right, “I’d like to take some of you. If you don’t mind.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Rider’s stunned expression is almost worth a photo on its own, if not for the hot wave of embarrassment washing over Waver’s body.

Then Rider grins—and not just any grin, but a _sneaky_ grin. It makes that wave of embarrassment feel like a drop of rain by comparison. Except now it’s combined with that buoyant feeling from before. _Why can’t my emotions just_ leave me alone _for five minutes, everything’s much easier that way!_

“Look, wait, don’t get the wrong idea,” Waver babbles, “I know there’s no good way to interpret this, but just _try_ to think of a better way than whatever you just thought of!”

“I wouldn’t mind either option, you know,” Rider says, sprawling out on his side and posing for Waver like it’s nothing. “You wouldn’t be the first person to preserve my likeness!”

 _Preserving his likeness._ That simple statement of fact brings Waver back to reality—and not one he’d like to face right now. Rider’s right: the historic figures of the past were given a second life in the form of portraits, whether in stone, marble, words or anything in between. As a result, people know Alexander the Great’s face as clearly as they know their own.

The King of Conquerors left his mark on humanity’s memory, long before Waver was born.

“That’s right,” Waver mutters to himself. “This is the obvious thing to do.”

“Exactly, boy,” Rider says, in a voice as soft as his mantle. “You were overthinking things just now. Relax, will you?”

Waver finds it in himself to chuckle. “Well, it’s not exactly _normal_ to ask a Heroic Spirit if he wants his picture taken.”

“Ha! Yes, I suppose not.”

Waver shakes his hair out of his eyes and holds up the camera with more confidence. Rider’s face blurs into focus, and Waver takes two steps back to get him in-frame.

“…Okay, say ‘cheese’.”

Waver starts out small like that, getting shots of Rider’s smile, the scars on his arms, or of Rider gleefully showing off the shirt he bought via catalog. They’re simple, everyday subjects like that. Nothing fancy.

The more photos Waver takes, the more his confidence grows, and the more he finds aspects of Rider that he wants to preserve.

The sunlight dappling his tanned skin, or glinting in his red hair and beard like sparks. How he laughs honestly at a stupid joke Waver told. The way his jeans crease at the knees, leaving shadows like teardrops on his calves. How when Rider massages his neck, his hand seems to fit perfectly where his shoulder and trapezius meet. The way his muscles ripple like one long wave, seemingly without his realizing it. How Rider seems well aware of what Waver’s noticing, but he doesn’t actually tease him about it as expected. He simply complies with each murmured request that falls from Waver’s lips, as if it’s a natural thing to do.

“You have an eye for detail, boy,” Rider says, after Waver finally puts the camera down to rest his cramping hands. “I have not felt this flattered for an age!”

Waver scoffs and sits down on the bed; the mattress sinks and rises beneath his weight. “Are you making fun of me again?”

Rider chuckles and rests his hands on his knees. “No, not at all!” His voice softens. “I am sincerely complimenting you.”

Waver’s clothes feel restrictive and hot; the weather’s still strange. He subconsciously tugs at his collar. “Well—thanks.” He looks at the camera by his side. “We can go get these developed tomorrow.”

“Eager to see our efforts rewarded, are you?” Another blinding smile. “That is good. You’re learning to pursue your desires after all!”

Waver purses his lips in thought. “Huh…yeah, I guess that’s a good way to put it.”

He’s starting to get annoyed, though—for lack of a better way to put it, his body is acting on its own. It’s not technically possible, but he can feel every inch of fabric on his skin each time he moves. More plausibly, his heart’s beginning to race.

Not wanting to ruin the pleasant atmosphere around them right now, he tugs off his sweater and drops it on the bed. _Ah, much_ _better._ He loosens his tie, as that was starting to feel constrictive too. _Y’know what—it’s in the way, I’ll just take it off._ Despite hot sweat unattractively sliding down his back through his shirt, he feels a little cooler. _Of course, then there’s that—that_ other _problem, but it’ll go away in a second anyway._

He tries to be covert about folding his arms over his chest, and succeeds. Then he crosses his legs, and of course that’s what catches Rider’s attention.

Rider quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t tease him. He’s sitting in this weird winter heat, too, he understands.

“Boy,” he says, his voice still uncharacteristically soft, “do you desire me?”

…It’s like Waver’s thoughts disappeared in a puff of smoke. All rationality is replaced with that one question, over and over, and each time it grows louder. The worst part of it all is that Rider’s _just sitting there_ , with his chin in his hand, like this is something people ask on the regular.

“Wh—that’s— _what_?!”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Rider strokes his beard, as if trying to piece together Waver’s reaction. “This is not a joke, either: merely a question you can answer at your leisure.”

Waver’s brain still isn’t cooperating, but he parrots “‘My leisure’?” all the same.

Rider smacks his fist into his palm, happy at understanding. “Oh, I see! You _did_ think it was a joke.” His face scrunches up in distaste. “You _definitely_ need a better place of learning, boy. Preferably near a high-quality brothel…oh, wait, your finances are lacking.”

He waves a hand dismissively—whether at Waver’s wallet, or the brothel idea, isn’t clear.

“And whose fault is that?” Waver growls.

“Very well, _our_ finances are lacking.” Rider grins and stands up, resting his hands on his hips. “At any rate, judging by that reaction, you’re not in the mood for pleasure. That is fine—what point is there in indulging yourself when you have no need to?”

Waver watches Rider amble to the door and open it. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Rider looks at Waver over his shoulder, utterly relaxed. “To get some of those cracker things from the kitchen. Want some?”

“Sure,” Waver replies, and Rider leaves him with his thoughts.

\---

Almost an hour later, Waver finally decides he’s ready. The photos (both his and Riders’) can’t seem to leave his head, and Rider’s casual mood has rubbed off on him. They’re both sitting on the floor, Rider reading _The Illiad_ for the thousandth time while Waver’s staring at a Magecraft textbook without seeing any of the words. The room is wrapped in companionable silence.

Waver should’ve suspected that this would happen. Sure, he cooled down for a while. But now—well, now he’s thinking about Rider’s muscles and honest laughter again, and it’s turning him on even worse than before and…it’s somehow both embarrassing and not.

He sighs and closes his book, placing it back in its stack with care. He glances at Rider, who’s still reading. He fidgets, shifting his weight from side to side.

“Hey, Rider.”

Rider looks up in acknowledgement, that damn sneaky grin back again. “Yes, boy?”

Waver leans forward, almost on hands and knees. “I’m ready,” he says, before embarrassment can surge up from his chest and strangle him.

“To bed, then!” Rider stands in one fluid motion and sits on the mattress with an ominous _creak._

Waver winces and hopes that the bed doesn’t give out before they’ve even started. “Okay, so…” He tries to remember what he knows about Ancient Macedonian sex lives, and finally thinks of something.  

“…Touching is fine, right?”

“More than fine, in fact,” Rider says with an eager grin.

Waver nods and gets close to him. Much to his surprise, Rider hooks his huge hands under his armpits and slowly lifts him. Before he can truly react, he’s on Rider’s knee, his head resting against Rider’s chest. Something resembling a heartbeat pounds methodically against Waver’s neck. His body heats up at the contact.

Waver looks up at Rider’s expectant expression and decides that now is the time to act. Licking his dry lips, he lifts a hand and cups Rider’s face; the side of Rider’s thick beard tickles his fingers. He doesn’t go for a kiss (too slobbery), but instead moves from Rider’s beard to his hair. It’s untamed and curly, but surprisingly soft.

“Are you attempting a scalp massage, boy?” Rider’s teasing words vibrate against Waver’s body. “That may have the opposite effect you want.”

“Oh,” Waver says, and reluctantly draws his hand back. “Wh—what would you like more?”

“I’d rather more of this unexpected forwardness of yours.” Rider chuckles and brings Waver’s hand to his huge clothed chest. “Here, for example.”

Waver’s jaw hangs open as Rider’s nipple rubs against his tingling palm. _W_ _hat the hell, why's everything so_ huge _on this guy?!_ He tentatively rolls his hand against that nub of flesh, and he bites back a gasp as he feels it rise through the cotton of Rider's shirt.

The sight of Rider’s eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, are enough to assure him that he’s doing good. _They’re…getting harder. His heartbeat’s faster too._

“What does this feel like, anyway?” Waver asks, because this is as good a time as any to learn something useful.

“ _Good_ ,” is Rider’s somewhat unhelpful reply.

Waver sighs in exasperation and refocuses. He unbuttons his trousers with his free hand, trying to pretend that his mouth isn’t dry and he’s not keeping track of every little hitch of breath and delighted shiver his Servant makes. 

But he does feel a strange surge of pride as Rider's body surges beneath his hands. This is scrawny, good-for-nothing _Waver Velvet's_ doing. _He's_ the one making the King of Conquerors feel this way. _H_ _e's_ the one who gets to see the flush coating Rider's cheeks and neck. _He's_ the one the King of Conquerors is touching so languidly, with one massive, powerful hand holding him steady while the other strokes Waver's trembling thighs in a steady rhythm.

It may not be a victory on the field of battle, but Waver's ego will take whatever boost it can.

In truth, it’s over sooner than Waver would like. Everything was too intense, and Rider’s touch was too, well, _good_. As soon as Waver’s mind eases out of the orgasm-induced fog, he winces at how sweaty and tired he feels. Then his mind careens into anxiousness. _Did I look or say something stupid? With my luck, I probably did._ _Great, now he's going to laugh at me!_

The worst part is that Rider doesn’t seem fazed at all. He just looks _…content,_ as if seeing Waver finish was something beautiful to behold.

“Do you feel better, boy?” Rider asks, lifting his hand out of Waver's lap.

“Huh? Oh.” Waver can only stare, dumbfounded, as Rider cleans his tanned fingers with his tongue. “I—I do. Yeah.”

For some reason, Rider looks at him with a hint of relief in his eyes. “That is good. Remember, you must enjoy life to the fullest while you can!”

_Ridiculous._

“There,” Waver says, climbing off Rider’s knee and not looking him in the eye. “You have your mana.”

But as he leaves for the bathroom, Rider follows him at a leisurely pace. “You needn’t feel embarrassed, boy,” he says good-naturedly as always. “I’ve yet to meet anyone whose first time is utterly perfect.”

Waver’s mouth wants to snap at Rider, but his mind provides the word “Thanks” and spares him real embarrassment. 

Rider hums in approval. “Once we have bathed, we’ll bring the photographs to be developed. Though truly, I’d consider this a successful day either way!”

Waver looks at Rider over his shoulder. “…Huh, really? I thought you wanted to see how the photos came out.”

Rider wipes sweat off the back of his neck. “Oh, I do! But…” He smiles and shakes his head. “Hmm, never mind. You will understand soon enough.”

Waver takes heart in those words, though he doesn’t understand why. He has a suspicion sex isn't what Rider means. His tone implied something quieter, even more personal. It probably has to do with getting Waver to eat junk food.

As he thinks it over with his hand on the bathroom doorknob, his mind replays what Rider said a few seconds before.

He looks at Rider, stunned. “‘After _we_ have bathed’…?”

Rider blinks at him, utterly befuddled. “Yes. We’re both disheveled, are we not?”

“Yeah, but—how will you _fit_?!”

Rider strokes his beard and frowns. “Yes, that _is_ a predicament.” His eyes light up. “Perhaps a shower would be better!”

 _Oh great, that actually seems reasonable._ “Let’s do it one at a time, then.”

“Huh? But we both need a shower. And would that not waste water? It’s a precious resource, you know.”

Waver throws up his hands and groans. “Okay, fine, you have a point! Let’s just get this over with.”

Rider beams. “I’m glad your high spirits have returned, boy!”

“Well, they may not last long at this rate,” Waver grumbles, and opens the bathroom door.

It appears there’s a bargain bin sale on miracles today: the shower plan goes almost without a hitch.

Rider _is_ still too big, so Waver winds up with equal amounts fresh water and torrents of used water pouring off Rider’s body. And he has to duck out of the way every time Rider’s huge arms scrub his muscular sides. _Then_  Rider gets soap in his eyes, which goes exactly as badly as you'd expect. Waver's ears ring for a good fifteen minutes after that.

Still, it could have gone much worse.

They exit the bathroom just when the Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie come home. Thankfully, neither suspect a thing. Everything’s gone so well, in fact, that Waver can't help but be on edge. He’s never been this lucky before.

\---

The next morning, he awakes from a dream of Rider standing before a place called Okeanos. He can still smell the brine, and feel the wind in his hair. It nestles in his heart, the way only the rarest dreams can.

He looks to Rider, snoring loudly on his cot, sprawled out without a care in the world. He remembers how Rider’s hands felt on his skin, how many pictures he took of this huge, loud, ridiculous King of Conquerors. That old, bitter shame comes crawling back. _I was weak again. I’m getting too attached to this—this_ Servant _. The others back at the Clock Tower already think I’m a fool; if this got out…_ He drags his fingers through his hair, letting his nails bite into his scalp. _That can’t happen again!_

In the back of his head, a voice that sounds annoyingly like Rider whispers: _But you’re not at the Clock Tower, are you? And would this Servant_ ever _let anyone mock his Master?_

Waver growls and prepares to get dressed. He’ll take Rider to the mall again today. That way he can research Alexander the Great without the legend himself butting in. He tries to convince himself that he’s only after battle strategies and other practical things, but the waves of Okeanos seem to sing in the very depths of his head and heart.

_“You will understand soon enough.”_

Waver forces his gaze away from Rider's cot as he picks his way around the assorted junk the bedroom’s collected and finds the camera. He considers throwing it out. But instead he places it in his desk drawer, out of sight. He’ll get the photos developed later.

_That can’t happen again._

\---

It takes many years, and a time-altering catastrophe, but Waver finally gets the photos developed at Chaldea’s HQ. They’re a little more high-definition than they would’ve been in the ‘90s, but why would that matter? They came out right, that's all that matters.

“You see, boy?” Rider says with a hearty laugh, his arm slung companionably around Waver’s older, broader shoulders. “You truly _do_ have an eye for detail!”

Waver’s chuckle is a little raspier than it was all those years ago—or would’ve been, if he’d been able to laugh more. “Yours aren’t half bad, either.”

“Of course, you know what this means, don’t you?” Rider’s sneaky grin makes it’s triumphant return.

Waver groans and rubs his temples. “More photos?”

“Exactly!”

Rider already has the camera in his hands. But this time, he holds it above both his and Waver’s heads, turned towards them. The camera still looks small, and it’s a little worn from being locked away all these years, but it still works fine.

“Smile, Waver!” Rider says cheerily, and this time Waver does so with pride swelling in his chest.

Perhaps it’s to be expected they both blinked.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated. :D


End file.
